Incomplete And Utter History Of Classical Music

WOMEN ARE LIARS

1851. Quick rain check on the population of various parts of the world as they stand in 1851. Britain is currently on around 20 million, America an amazing 23, France 33, Germany 34, but in first place, with a whopping 430 million, the winner is China. Well done, China. Come on down!

And what news to impart? Well, big news really. Cuba has just declared its independence, France has a new constitution following a coup by Louis Napoleon, and Britain? Well, the first double-decker buses appear. OK, not exactiy huge news for Britain, but still. Things are a little quiet.

In the US, the brand-new New Tork Times carries an ad for the equally brand-new, first-ever, continuous stitch sewing machine, freshly patented by one Isaac Singer, while, over in Paris, photographic pioneer Louis Daguerre keels over, on his own doorstep, and dies. So - he not only invented the first photographs, he also pioneered the mat finish.

The English art cognoscenti are also mourning the death of one of their finest painters, JMW Turner. The big read this year is Herman Melville's Moby Dick, and the brand-new modern building for everyone to complain about is William Cubitt's King's Cross train station. Although platform 9% had yet to be added. But in the world of music, Verdi has something up his sleeve. His green sleeve, you might say. Imagine you're there. Where? There. In Venice. At the Teatro La Fenice.

Let's say… you're in the orchestra. Yes, that's it. You're in the orchestra. You've been to three dress rehearsals so far and, every time you get to a certain part of the opera, you hit a blank page. And I mean literally. Where there should be an aria, there's a blank page. Bloody odd. Whenever you get to it, everyone looks up at the conductor, questioningly. The conductor - who is also the composer - says something like, 'Oh… we'll… fill that bit in later.' Bloody odd. It happens again. And again. In fact, every time you get to that particular bit. How dashed, decidedly, brow-beatingly, breathtakingly, bloody odd! Until, that is, the very last dress rehearsal, which is on the day of the opening night. Only then, does Verdi - our conductor/ composer - stump up the missing aria.

Why? Well, it turns out Verdi knew he was on to a winner. In fact, so convinced was he that he was on to a winning, hit tune, that he wanted to make sure it stayed under wraps until the opening night, for fear of some unscrupulous composer stealing it. And he was right, too. By that I don't mean someone stole it -1 mean he did have a hit tune on his hands. It is usually translated as 'Women are fickle', but I do remember one amazing production at ENO, by Dr Jonathan Miller, which had it translated as 'Women are liars', which I thought was certainly giving it some. His opera, Rijjoletto, opened that night, complete with the hit tune he had kept from even his own orchestra until the same day - 'La donna? mobile'.

And you've got to admit - corking tune. You could see why he'd want to protect it. It's one of those that, once you've heard it, you can't get it out of your head. And the words are so good too. 'Women?.?? liars…ttUTl tlim tlim teedle tum dum dum dum, deedle dum…'